


Guns, Gals, and Green Gel

by Croik



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: 1930s AU, Gen, Mobster AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Det. Castellanos finds himself in a sticky situation while tracking down Ruben Victoriano, Krimson City's most notorious criminal.  1930s mobster AU one shot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns, Gals, and Green Gel

**Author's Note:**

> After all the chatter between [Jazi, TSS](http://croik.tumblr.com/post/140001451310/what-abouta-funny-au-without-the-bad-shit-in), [Xaira,](http://croik.tumblr.com/post/140166812120/xaira-gabvi-because-whats-better-than-ruben) [Delsey](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6122935) and I about TEW gangsters, I had to get in on it! Probably mixed up my slang but oh well, I had some fun with it, and I hope you do, too!

"Is that really the best you've got?" Sebastian taunted.

Five bloody knuckles smashed into his jaw like a cement block. Even having braced himself for it, Sebastian still rocked with the blow, two legs of the chair he was tied to coming up off the floor. His cheek split open against his teeth, filling his mouth with tangy copper, and his brain spun around and around behind his eyes. Kinda felt like the car wreck he'd been in last spring—would'a been nice to pass right out. But as he struggled and groaned, it gave him a few seconds of opportunity to scrape his bindings against a nail in the chair back that hadn't been pounded down enough.

"Enough," said a woman's voice. The three hundred pound sack of shit that had been laying into him all evening finally backed off a few steps, giving Sebastian a look at the tall glass of water behind him. She had a pair of legs that went on for miles—who knew they even made fishnets that long—and pale skin that melted right into the white satin of her dress, which didn't seem to match the black hair tucked beneath her cap. He couldn't make out much of her face; the light from the room's only bare bulb reflected off her thick-rimmed glasses and hurt to look at.

"Where is the boy?" she asked, blowing a ring of smoke from a long cigarette.

Sebastian spat blood and maybe part of a tooth; the glob slapped wetly against the stains already covering the man's apron. "What boy?"

The brute let him have it again, and shit, he broke his nose. The crack of it turned his stomach. But as he kicked at the basement floor, trying to keep from toppling over, he felt the rope around his wrists start to give. Just a little bit more and he'd be loose.

"Where is Leslie Withers?" asked Legs, losing patience.

"I keep telling ya, I don't know no 'Leslie Withers,'" Sebastian retorted. He leaned forward so the blood from his nose wouldn't run down his throat. "Came in here for a drink."

"I'm sure you did," she replied coldly. "We know all about you, Detective Castellanos. And we know you stashed that boy somewhere, so how's about you start talking? Unless you're _enjoying_ your time with my friend here."

Her "friend" was a barrel-chested six-foot-five gorilla in a butcher's smock: big square jaw, big round nose, squinty little eyes. "You mean St. Nick here?" Sebastian said. "Oh yeah, we're having a grand old time playing patty-cake."

The brute wound up again, but before he could land another hit, the cellar's only door creaked open. In stepped another woman, a brunette in a nurse's white bonnet and skirt. The cool smile she fixed Sebastian with might have been enticing, in a wholly different setting. "It's been a while," she said with very little concern. "Have you gotten any information out of him?"

"You're welcome to try your hand," said Legs, smoothing out her dress.

The nurse looked to Sebastian, and something about the uncaring gleam of her brown eyes behind her glasses tipped him off. _Tatiana Gutierrez_ , he thought, cycling back through the station rumors and snitch whispers. _From the sanitarium._ _Guess I'm moving up in the ranks after all._

__

Sebastian forced himself to sit up straight. One more good yank and he could have freed his hands, but he didn't particularly like his odds against three of them. "You here to patch me up?" he said, and he licked the blood from his upper lip. "Or are you just waiting for your turn?"

Tatiana stepped closer, the tap of her heels echoing in the small cement room. She rolled up her sleeves. Sebastian tried not to squirm, but he suddenly worried that he'd severely underestimated his situation. He eyed the hand dipping into her apron, sweat on his brow, only to realize a moment later that she was removing a soft white handkerchief.

"A bit of both," Tatiana said, tipping his head up with two fingertips to the underside of his chin. She tsked quietly as she mopped up the blood from his broken nose and cut mouth. "You might as well be presentable, since that boss has asked to see you."

Her lips were as full and red as his, and close enough that he had a hard time focusing on what she was saying. When it clicked, his muscles wound up tight. "The boss," he echoed, heart fierce in his ears. "Victoriano."

Tatiana covered his nose with the handkerchief. "Indeed." Abruptly she took hold, snapping the cartilage back into place.

Sebastian jolted, cursing violent as he reared back. Tatiana merely tossed the cloth aside before it could stain her hands. "Bring him up," she said on her way out the door. "This meeting is overdue."

It was his chance. They would have to untie him from the chair in order to move him—he could take them by surprise, make a run for it, get backup. His face was throbbing hard enough he wouldn't have been surprised if it fell off entirely, but all he needed was a few minutes of focus in order to escape. But then the block-headed brute grabbed the back of the chair and simply began to drag him out of the room. Sebastian's head swam dizzily as he was tipped backwards, which wasn't helped by the chair legs screeching across the floor. By the time he had enough of his wits back to resume struggling, Miss Fishnets had fallen into step behind him, and she kicked the bottom of the chair. He could have sworn the wood cracked under her heel.

"Don't try anything," she warned.

They reached the stairs. Sebastian expected a pause, but his burly chariot continued to drag him with ease. Each bang of the chair against the steps jarred his already rattling skull, making his plan to run look less and less like an option. Legs even followed at enough of a distance that if he did break free and get out of his seat, he wouldn't be able to reach her before she could reach him.

 _What do you wanna run for?_ he asked himself as the noise from the bar overhead grew steadily louder. _They're taking you to meet Victoriano. This is what you've wanted._ He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. _Face the bastard. Then haul him in. Somehow._

They dragged him up to the main level, past the open door to a kitchen, a storeroom full of liquor, and finally into the back office of Krimson's best kept secret dive. He wasn't sure what he expected to see there, but it wasn't the empty, artless shell revealed to him backwards. Instead of classy oil paintings or plush curtains, the office was decorated with anatomy drawings done in charcoal and simple, antique bookshelves covered in medical texts. It was cold and artless and looked more like a coroner's office than that of the richest crook in the city.

The muscle-head swung him around, and as the chair settled on the hardwood floor with a hair-raising squeal, Sebastian finally got a look at the man of the hour: Ruben Fucking Victoriano himself.

He'd seen him a time or two before, but only fleetingly, at a distance. With only a desk between them the crown prince of Krimson's underworld cut a very different figure, somehow both more and less intimidating than those glimpses from afar. The cut of his dark red suit, though clearly expensive, gave away his rather slight build, making him appear younger than his thirty-seven years. Most of his exposed skin was covered in rough white bandage in a paltry attempt to hide the horrid scar tissue beneath. He probably wasn't much in a fight without his goons at his side. Sebastian had high hopes for hauling him to the station _literally_.

But those eyes. Piercing out from beneath the lip of his fancy rich boy hat were a pair of pale eyes fit for the Devil himself. This was a man who had killed, who was willing, probably eager, to do so again—not with the impulsive rage of many a drunken murderer in this town, but with patience, precision. Killing wasn't simply a means to a result for him, nor was it an emotional release, not even a matter of business. It was a _craft_ , honed and practiced to the point of ease. It was a fucking hobby. Ruben Victoriano was maybe the only true psychotic the world would ever know. It made Sebastian sick to his stomach to think of how he had begun.

Sebastian gave his wrists one last yank against the chair, and the rope frayed enough that he could pull himself free at any time. Neither the square-jaw nor the bottle-glasses seemed to notice, so he kept his arms back tight, wrists close together to hide his success. His moment would come.

"Detective Castellanos," Ruben greeted. He folded his hands on the desk, perfectly poised and yet perfectly at ease at the same time. Despite their relative states there was no smugness in his voice, no bravado. His reputation for asserting complete control had not been overstated. "I expected to find you here sooner or later."

"Well, I hate to disappoint." Sebastian's gaze was drawn briefly to Tatiana taking a seat on a nearby lounge. "Word out on the street is you've been looking for me."

"You have something I want." Ruben fixed him with a particularly icy stare. "And you're going to tell me where I can find it."

Sebastian wasn't moved in the slightest. "I got no earthly idea what you're on about."

Ruben stood and moved around the desk. His decades old injuries may have been frightful to look at, but there was no trace of a limp in his step, no unnecessary motion. He was smooth and silent and lethal wherever he went. "You have the boy, Leslie Withers," said Ruben. "I want him back."

Continuing to play dumb was certainly an option, but staring up at the beast he'd been chasing so long, Sebastian couldn't bring himself to do it. He had scars of his own chewing him up from the inside and only one thing was about to stop them from swallowing him whole. "He's not just some boy," he said, meeting Ruben glare for glare. "And he's no property of yours. He's a witness."

"A witness?" Ruben scoffed. "You honestly think your beloved judge and jury will even be able to make sense of that boy's mutterings, let alone believe him? An escaped patient from Beacon's mental ward? You know the good doctor will refute any testimony he offers."

"Jimenez is a quack and a crook," Sebastian snapped, unable to help himself. "And you two are gonna share a cell when I'm through with you."

The thought seemed to honestly give Ruben a chill, though he was back to impeccable composure a moment later. "What do you have to accuse me of?" he challenged.

"Murder," Sebastian replied without hesitation. "Fourteen counts in the first degree." His lips pulled back from his teeth. "They'll be cooking you all night long."

"Fourteen." Ruben glanced behind him, and Tatiana raised an eyebrow in reply. "Ah, I see. You're including your wife and child."

Sebastian clenched his jaws; if only he could get his hands around the weasel's neck before the two enforcers reached him. "Don't even try to say it wasn't you," he snarled.

"You think that I would retaliate against you so obviously, almost thirty years after the fact?" Ruben replied. "Do not think yourself so important to me, Castellanos. If I was a man who held others responsible for the sins of their fathers, you would have been dead years ago."

He stepped forward, and Sebastian tensed all over, eager for his opportunity. But when five bandaged fingers took his jaw, he glimpsed a point of steel hidden beneath the cuff of Ruben's sleeve. A knife, and a damn sharp one, by the looks of it. It was probably hitched to some kind of mechanism, ready to spring with just a flick of the wrist—right into his jugular, given their proximity. It took an inhuman effort to remain still, but he managed.

"I will admit, your continued existence puts me in an uncomfortable position," said Ruben, his crooked nails digging into Sebastian's chin. "It was your wretched Castellanos kin that took so much from me, but then again, it was only thanks to you that they're rotting in prison for it. What ratio of bitterness to gratitude is due to a history such as ours?"

" _Gratitude_?" Sebastian jerked out of Ruben's grip. "You fucking burned my little girl alive in her own bed, you sick son of—"

A door behind him opened, and the look Ruben cast at whoever came through was so sharp and intense that even Sebastian clamped his mouth shut. All eyes snapped to the graceful figure sweeping into the room. At a glance, she was a satin phantom; her red dress swished and shimmered with every step, from the high collar to the full length gloves to the ruffled skit that hid her shoes. Every inch of her from the neck down was adorned. Only her head was bare, though at first all Sebastian could see was the thick black hair swept over her shoulder. Then she turned. Even having expected it, the sight of crude scars mangling her entire countenance took Sebastian aback. The hair that had seemed so luscious and well-groomed only covered half her scalp, as the other side had been blistered completely dead.

Laura Victoriano. The Fallen Angel, some called her. Hell may have made a feast of her brother, but it spit her out half-way, they said. But between the sway of her long body and the welcoming gleam in her one good eye, it was no wonder she put asses in seats on a Saturday night.

Ruben stepped back, and Laura joined him, leaning in close to rest both hands on his shoulder. They fit so well together it was like completing a painting.

"I didn't set fire to your home," said Ruben. "Nor did anyone loyal to me. I didn't abduct your wife, either, while we're at it. You have the Mobius Cult to thank for the loss of your family."

 _The cult._ As eager as Sebastian was to denounce Ruben as the lying ratfink he was, he'd heard those rumors the captain was so eager to dismiss. He longed for a proper interrogation room with Ruben sweating under the lights—if he was even capable of that now. "What do you know about the cult?" he asked, projecting as much of an aura of control as his slimy adversary.

"What do _you_ know?" Ruben retorted. "Because I know for a fact that your captain won't even acknowledge they exist."

Sebastian bit back a scowl. _Joe was right—he's got ears on the inside after all._ But there was a chance he could still get Ruben to talk, if only to show off his own knowledge. All he had to do was offer _something_ to get the damn wheel spinning. "I know they've been making people disappear for the better part of three years," he said. "Unlike you, they never leave anything behind. No mutilated corpses."

"If you say so," said Ruben, unimpressed.

That rose Sebastian's hackles, but he forcefully kept his cool. "They're using the booze houses to fund themselves," he continued. "The stronger the better. You have _that_ in common."

Laura smiled at him; his heart skipped and he wasn't sure why. She whispered something in her brother's ear that seemed to amuse him, which in itself was somewhat terrifying. "Booze," Ruben echoed. "How quaint that you think that." He gestured at Tatiana, who stood and moved to one of the book cases. "There are far more interesting things than illegal liquor circulating Krimson's underground, Detective."

Tatiana reached deeply into the shelf, far enough that there must have been a compartment cut into the wall behind it, and pulled out a handsome wooden case. As she approached them, Laura turned away from her brother to flick open the brass latches. There was shy delight in the curl of her lips that would have had any man panting for whatever she was about to pull out of that mystery box, and even Sebastian couldn't say he was entirely immune. When she pulled out a long syringe, however, there was no mistaking the thumping in his chest for anything other than panic.

Ruben reached into the case as well, removing from it a small glass vial filled with a glowing green fluid. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, showing it off to his captive.

Sebastian gulped. He was starting to wish he had taken Kidman's warnings more seriously. "Looks like green jelly," he muttered, hoping to cover his anxiety. "Mint?"

The two women shared a secretive smile. "Joke all you like," said Ruben, holding the vile still so that Laura could fill the syringe with it. "In a few moments, you'll know everything about what it is we do here."

"You're not sticking me with that," said Sebastian, and as Laura came closer, he couldn't hold out any longer; he swung his arms around, ready to fight back. But beauty and beast had been on to him all along, and each grabbed a wrist long before he could even get out of the chair. They yanked him hard into the chair back until his shoulders ached in their sockets. When he tried to kick, Ruben was already there, shoving his feet wider so he couldn't get any leverage. The son of a bitch was practically in his lap, grabbing a fistful of hair to yank his head back. Stronger than he looked after all.

"Get off'a me!" Sebastian snarled, but then Ruben grabbed his jaw as well, stretching his throat out for Laura and her loaded syringe. He didn't stop fighting but he already knew it was hopeless—he was fucked. He watched with dread as a drop of green oozed from the tip of the needle.

"You have potential," said Ruben, holding him firmly in place. "You found your way here, after all. You and I can make a deal." He waited until Laura was in range, tapping the needle against Sebastian's bobbing Adam's apple, to continue. "Give me the boy, and I can give you the fanatics that murdered your daughter."

Sebastian saw red: red suit, red dress; red spattered concrete, red exposed muscle ripped from the bone; red flames roaring from a perfect family home. He felt as if the earth were about to tear open beneath his seat and drag him down. _How dare he_. He had set out seeking the Devil and found him, only to be taunted with further evils beyond his reach. How dare he make a lie sound so tempting. Before Sebastian could even fully process what was being offered him, the needle was piercing his skin, and Laura's thumb brushed the plunger.

Yellow light blazed through the room's side windows. Sebastian assume it was the poison already entering his system, but then thunder followed, and a crash that shook the hardwood under his helpless feet. Wood and glass flew everywhere. All at once Ruben and his goons reared back, retreating under a hail of screaming lead. The moment Sebastian was loose he hit the floor, prying the snapped needle out of his neck as 850 rounds a minute tore chunks out of the upholstery. God bless the Thompson submachine gun.

The volley paused, and Sebastian lifted his head, finding himself nearly eye to eye with the front grill of his own black and white Ambassador. He couldn't make out whoever was behind the wheel, but it was his partner, Joe Oda, leaning out the passenger side with the chopper. "Sebastian!" he called as he slapped in another drum. "Get in!"

The brute opened fire with a revolver, but another round from Joe drove him back into the cover of the doorway. As Sebastian threw himself into the car he caught a glimpse of the Victorianos huddled close together behind Ruben's old oak desk. Their eyes on him were fierce enough to curse, if only he believed in that shit.

The Ambassador lurched back, and Sebastian yanked the door shut as it squealed back into the side road it had drove in on. It left a whole in the building wall like an exit wound. Joe got off another few shots to cover their tracks, but soon they were speeding away, the lounge and its demons far behind them.

"Christ, am I glad to see you," Sebastian laughed as he hauled himself upright in the seat. He reached forward to clap his partner on the shoulder. "How the hell'd you find me?"

Joe tipped his hat toward their driver. "The Kid," he said. "Said she owed you one."

Sebastian looked for himself, and wasn't sure if it was relief or apprehension that made it hard to respond; sure enough, Juli Kidman was behind the wheel, trussed up in the pinstripes he'd arrested her in. She cast him a glance in the rearview mirror. "Detective," she greeted succinctly.

"Kid," Sebastian grunted back. "Looks like you finally figured out which side you're on."

"You could say that." She bore down on the gas. "You're welcome."

"Yeah, well. You scratched the paint." He settled back in his seat. "Get us to the station."

Joe turned to frown at him. "You don't want to get back to the Withers kid?" he asked. "Make sure he's safe?"

Sebastian shook his head, then regretted it; acting tough for Ruben had made him forget his whole damn face was still busted up, and he was glad to accept a handkerchief from Joe. "They haven't figured out yet where we're keeping him," he said. "We gotta keep it that way as long as we can. Victoriano was damn keen on getting him back—there's more to him than we know. But for now, we gotta pull in some backup."

"You want to go back after him _tonight_?" Joe asked incredulously.

"Damn right I do."

"We were lucky just now," said Kid. "You go to war against the Victorianos and that luck's gonna run out real fast."

"Didn't Joe here tell you?" Sebastian reached under the back seat and pulled out the twelve gauge he'd stowed there. "I make my own luck. Just get us to the station."

Kid took the next turn, and the car jerked, hurrying them on toward the KCPD. _Just you wait, you son a bitch,_ he thought as he loaded the shotgun. _I'm coming back for ya. Whether it was you, or cultist, or whoever the hell else, I'm gonna make you sing._


End file.
